His Skeleton Gloves
by Mindfreak Iero
Summary: Gerard Way, a total asshole, speaks up about his concerns on the topic that the Art History teacher is discussing. Gerard disagrees with such a mythical lesson, but as the story continues, Frank Iero shows him the truth. Frerard. My Chemical Romance.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm new here, but I'm assuming I need to list off a few things?_

**Disclaimer:** This story is pure fiction, meaning that it never happened. I have no contact with the members of My Chemical Romance, and I own nothing aside from the plot.  
**Rating:** NC-17 for language, mature themes and explicit sex.  
**Pairing:** Frerard (Frank Iero / Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance).  
Author's note: My first time posting here, be easy. Also, my fictions are posted on many other sites, so please don't review my work as plagiarism if you've seen it elsewhere.

* * *

"It's bullshit if you ask me," Gerard announced, disrupting the entire university classroom. "I mean, really...a haunted human that brings nothing but bad luck, insanity, then eventually death? Just because of some wacked thing on his right hand?" Gerard sounded really unconvinced.

"Not just _some wacked thing_, Mr. Way," his teacher spoke up, "it's a spiralling hole that never stops," he explained.

"Bull–_shit_."

"You can believe what you like, Mr. Way."

"Why are you even teaching this? This is Art History, not historical myths."

"Because, the person who holds the curse is said to have the_ utmost _talent in art."

"Yeah, and it's also said that if you wear your shirt inside out and backwards or some shit that the fairies will get you. I don't see any fairies crawling up my turf yet...considering the many number of times I've put my clothes on wrong after a long night of partying."

"That's different," the teacher argued, "it has nothing to do with what we're talking about."

Gerard let out an exasperated laugh. "It has everything to do with what we're talking about."

"I'd like to see your interpretation of that."

"Well, _I'd _like to get laid tonight, but I don't see _that_ happening."

"The person deemed to hold the curse is also said to hold the personality and antics to follow of a free-selling prostitute...if you catch my drift." The professor had been ignored.

Shrill laughs echoed throughout the overpopulated room. "Hey, Gerard," a girl with plump lips and sandy blonde hair called out. Gerard, who was slumping down in his chair and tapping a pencil against the wooden desk attached, looked over towards the owner of the voice. "Call me," she said, holding up the suitable signal with her thumb and pinky towards her ear. Gerard gave a cheeky smirk and gave a brief 'seductive' nod as he ran his tongue across his top teeth beneath his upper lip.

An uproar of whistles and laughter spewed throughout the classroom. Gerard received high-fives from his friends around him.

"Silence!"

The fun and games had been brought to an abrupt end as the Professor previewed his displeasure for the topic being discussed.

The bell rang, saving each and every one of them from a very long and hassling lecture about speaking out of place and about obscured and inappropriate topics. Not that it would have mattered, though. The entire classroom was filled with first year university students, fresh out of high school.

"Can you believe that man?" Gerard asked, catching up with Ray Toro in the hallway. "Seriously, who does he think he is? Teaching us that garbage."

"–I think I'm your Professor."

Gerard, completely unaffected by the fact that he had been overheard by the exact person he had been ranting about, merely turned around and stopped in his tracks.

"Then stop teaching us ghost stories...I took that class to learn about art."

"Sounds like you're scared, Mr. Way."

"Bastard," Gerard huffed before rolling his eyes and turning away.

"You've just earned yourself a Saturday detention, Mr. Way!"

Gerard, instead of stopping, merely stuck his hand up and flipped off the Professor without even another glance over his shoulder. He couldn't care less about something as silly as a Saturday detention...he was in university, after all. He honestly just couldn't get over the fact that they still had such things. But, since he was already living on residence (rooming on his own), spending a Saturday afternoon in a classroom would be nothing out of the ordinary for him.

"You know, Way," Ray had started off, placing his hand on Gerard's shoulder, "one day, you're going to piss off the wrong man and get your scrawny ass kicked out of this school."

Gerard shrugged, keeping up his act of uncaring tendencies. "They won't kick me out," he said, "because if they were going to, they would have by now," he reasoned.

"He has a point," Bob noted. "I mean, look at all the shit he's after putting the teachers through. Everything from disrupting and disrespecting to questioning the teaching habits and materials of the class."

"How did you even get into this school?" Ray asked.

"Because, they only looked at my grade progress report from high school, they didn't look at all the discipline notes I had collected up at the main office."

At that, the three boys started to laugh.

Later that night, after Gerard had showered, did his hair, worked on some paintings and actually completed his English report on the play 'Macbeth', the dorm adviser sent a few knocks to the door. Gerard, assuming that it was just one of his friends (or even the chick from class that day) didn't bother to find a top, so he answered the door in his boxers.

The adviser laughed at bit at Gerard's rarely uncommon appearance, then cut straight to the point. "You're the only one in this dorm wing that has an extra bed and no roommate," he stated.

"Yeah...and?" Gerard asked, crossing his arms over his chest so he wouldn't feel as exposed.

"We just had a transfer, male, and he's paying for residence..."

"...so you want me to share my room?"

"We're not asking you," the slightly shorter man stated. "You're living on residence, so this isn't your place...we're just giving you a heads up. He'll be bringing his stuff by in the morning."

"Don't I have anything to say in the matter?" Gerard asked as the adviser started to walk away.

"Nope," he replied, "I'm afraid you don't."

Gerard rolled his eyes and shut the door without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud, constant knock to the dorm-room door was what brought Gerard to a very irritated and moody awakening. After huffing a few times and realizing that if he didn't answer the door, he would be in shit, he climbed out of the bed, wearing nothing but black baggy boxer shorts, and made his way to answer the door.

"The _fuck_ do you want?" he grumbled, eyes half lidded while he ran his hand that wasn't perched on the doorknob through his major bedhead display of a morning hairstyle. He waited for a response, but when he noticed that he wasn't getting either one, he focussed his eyes on a very displeased dorm advisor standing stubbly in front of a young 'punk' looking kid. Well, I say 'kid' because the man standing behind the dorm advisor deemed to have the personality and style of a young teenager bopping around in high school and still attending local shows.

"I want you to be more welcoming, Gerard," he said. "Now, this is your new room mate, Frank." Gerard switched his view to the young man standing behind him. He was sporting a black (though it was faded out from use) hooded sweater, of course with the hood up. The hood had a single button pinned slightly off-center, shifting towards the right. He wore fairly tight jeans with a neon pink silver-studded belt, and also a Misfits patch sewn below a rip in the light blue denim. Gerard was fairly interested in the guy's choice of style, but was more intrigued by the black fingerless gloves with the green skeleton bones that shielded his hands from nothing.

_It wasn't winter._

"Sup." The simple mix of two words blended into one gave Gerard a very biassed view on his personality. He imagined the Frank figure to be some what smug and very egotistic. Gerard merely gave the introduction of cocking an eyebrow before turning around to fetch some clothing to cover his nakedness. Not that he was ashamed, no, he just didn't want the new guy getting '_turned on_' because of his '_hot bod_', as he liked to put it. Gerard was quite the stuck up asshole, as you can probably tell by now.

"If Frank goes missing, you're getting the blame, Way," the advisor warned. It's safe to say that the warning alone gave Frank quite the uneasy feeling about his new roomy. On the other hand, Frank didn't have anything to worry about.

"Peachy," Gerard sarcastically remarked before pulling a Black Flag shirt down over his chest and sorting it out on himself.

Frank let himself in and laid his bags down on the floor next to the door. The advisor had left right away, probably not willing to see what kind of pissed off mood Gerard was in due to the sudden and unwanted invasion.

"You know, you _could_ be a bit nicer," Frank commented, sounding rather blunt in Gerard's eyes. Gerard scoffed and glared over towards the foreign object standing in the living room area of his dorm room.

"You know, you _could_ be a bit less existent," Gerard had commented in return.

Frank raised both eyebrows at the rather uncalled for comment that he had received. He mentally told Gerard off before stalking off to the empty bedroom, which in turn, wasn't as empty as expected. He came back out to find Gerard almost asleep on the couch.

"Gerard!"

Gerard sucked in a deep breath of air at the sudden call of his name. He glanced over at Frank and scowled to himself. "What do you want, now?" he asked, shifting around on the black leather couch and getting comfortable where the material was cold.

"Uh...a room, maybe?" he asked, picking up on Gerard's sarcastic ways pretty quickly.

"A wise-cracker, are we?" Gerard hissed, fluffing up his white cotton pillow and settling down to ignore Frank's pleas.

"Fine, I'll just move all of your art shit out into the hall."

"Touch my _art shit_ and** die**."

Frank ignored Gerard's so-called 'threat', and gutted out his new room regardless. It wasn't like anything could have been done to him, it was his room, and he had the right to fit his own stuff in his own space. He was paying for residence, after all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gerard spat after the noise of Frank removing his items from the room and into the hall disrupted his sleep.

"I'm trying to clean out my room," Frank had retorted, chucking some old sketchbooks down on the floor, causing the papers to riffle out of them without a care. He walked over the pile of papers and continued to make his bedroom livable.

"Jesus Christ, you're so stubborn," Gerard had hissed, leaning over to pick up the precious papers of secret artworks that littered the hall.

"No, you're just an incompatible asshole," Frank snarled.

"Go get laid," Gerard hissed.

Frank cocked an eyebrow at Gerard's batty comeback. "_Me_ go get laid? _You're_ the one saying in Art History today that you wanted to get laid but it wasn't happening anytime soon."

Gerard stopped what he was doing and looked up at Frank, then down at his shaky hands. Frank's fingers played at the ravelling of his green and black skeleton gloves as his pale fingers deemed to have the fingernails chewed off. "But..." Gerard trailed off as he tried to recall that class. He eyed Frank suspiciously. "You're new...you weren't in my class then."

Frank stopped what he was doing with his gloves and looked up at Gerard, his eyes were wild, similar to a cat's when exposed to sudden darkness.

"W-well, I..._yes, I was_," Frank caught himself, stuttering over his own choice of diction. "I was just in the back, one of my first classes, Art History was," he explained.

Gerard just continued to eye him with a rather harsh look before letting it drift. Gerard wasn't the one to believe in any kind of supernatural bullshit, so no thoughts of anything actually occurred to him. He just figured he was that out of it in class that he didn't notice the new kid.


	3. Chapter 3

A week had passed, and neither Frank nor Gerard could manage to be in the same room for more than ten minutes without wanting to rip each other's hair out. Gerard was an arrogant, egoistical asshole, and Frank pretty much mirrored the same effect, not to mention, he had greater art skills than Gerard did, which pretty much put the icing on the 'I hate Frank' cake that Gerard seemed to be baking every afternoon.

"Get the fuck out of my sight," Gerard snarled before Frank even said anything upon entering the dorm room.

"Fuck me," Frank snarled, taking a large chance by sitting down on the couch that Gerard was sitting on. Gerard glanced over at him, just like he was a mouse that had tried to sleep in the cat's basket. He was _not_ pleased, to say the least.

"Get the fuck off of my couch," he hissed, his eyes examining the old skeleton gloves once again.

"This isn't your fucking couch, your fucking apartment, _or_ your fucking property. I have just as much of a right here as you do, and there's nothing your jealous little whiney ass can do about it, fag."

That was what pissed Gerard off, and caused him to do what he did next. He sprawled across the couch and brought his hands to Frank's neck after tackling him to the dorm room floor. He straddled him, in a very unsexual way, before flying a punch at Frank's face. He never hit him, though, Frank caught his fist in his hand then buckled up and slipped out from under Gerard. Gerard, confused about how Frank managed such a move, was preoccupied and looking down at the absent space in front of him, and was completely oblivious to the set of feet that proceeded to strike him dead in the face and then send him tumbling backwards from the violent impact.

Gerard gasped as he sat up, a bloody hand held to his gushing nose, while his piercing hazel eyes sent burning daggers towards Frank. Frank wasn't phased by the so-called intimidating look at all, rather, he found it all pretty amusing.

"You fucking try to pull that one again and you'll loose your fucking face," he warned to the bleeding man on the floor.

Gerard didn't flinch or change any esteem of emotion. He continued to stare deep into Frank's eyes, trying to understand what it was about the man that held so much of an invisible power over him. It wasn't so much of a power _over_ him though, it was more of a _power_ in general, something that Gerard was having to struggle to defeat.

It was both intriguing...and annoying.

It was only after Frank had vanished into Gerard's ex-storage room (his bedroom) did Gerard finally come up with a weak attempt at snarling something back. "You son of a bitch," he hissed, though it had just enough meaning as it would if it was snarled upon deaf ears.

"Right back at yah," Frank whispered to himself as he was perched on his bed with his headphones on.

They both woke up the next day and tried to stay out of each other's sight. Coming from the dark shade that Gerard's nose had turned, it was safe to say that it was either broken, or sprained. A lot of people noticed it, but Gerard tried to hide what had happened with some big shot story about how he was on drugs and was out of it and fell down and smashed his nose against the coffee table. Obviously, with Gerard being who he was, everyone believed him...

Everyone _besides_ Bob and Ray.

"Alright, so, now that everyone thinks you're a big-shot, what _really_ happened?" Ray asked him as they took their seat in their Math lesson. They were sitting in the back row at the stop of the corol-risers of the room. Down on the floor, the Professor was already writing out some notes on that day's lesson (not that the people in the back could see it very well).

"Yea, man," Bob added. "You never do weed or anything without us."

Gerard scoffed then slumped down in his seat, his attempt at pulling off his 'bad boy' look like he always did.

"Yeah, tell them."

Gerard jumped slightly as he turned to his right to see a pair of skeleton gloves tapping their fingers against the wooden desk. For a second, it seemed as though the gloves had a mind of their own, but a few seconds later, Frank's body came into view and smiled.

"Motherfucker," he hissed.

"Hello to you, too," Frank said to him. "So are you going to tell them?"

"Yeah, are you going to tell us?" Bob asked.

Gerard glared over at his friends, hating them for being so smart as to find out that he obviously wasn't telling the truth about his little drug story. "Fine, whatever," Gerard hissed while rolling his eyes. "Me and..._faggot_ over there got in a fight..."

"Where? How? What happened?" All the questions came blurting at him at the same time.

"Oh, yeah," Gerard remembered, scratching his head. "Didn't I tell you? I have a room mate." Bob and Ray looked very amused at Gerard's displeasure about the entire situation. "And he was getting on my last nerve, so I clobbered him," he explained.

"Oh, cause it really looks like he got clobbered," Ray wisely pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," Gerard groaned. "So he got in a good hit, it was luck."

"No," Ray argued, "luck, was you getting everyone to believe your story about drugs."

Gerard rolled his eyes, again, and ignored his friends–_and room mate_ for the rest of the lesson. He didn't like Frank, or how he was slowly tearing down his reputation that took him so long to build up.


End file.
